


Arrow of Mourning

by sirbartonslady



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Comfort, Gen, genderless Byleth, mentions of other characters' deaths, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 11:44:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20891579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirbartonslady/pseuds/sirbartonslady
Summary: Even Claude has his limits to what he can take; Byleth is there to comfort him and offer him some relief. (Inspired by and based on a Tumblr comic I found and enjoyed)





	Arrow of Mourning

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Taru (potatoclaw/sniickerdoodlle on Tumblr!)  
https://sniickerdoodlle.tumblr.com/post/187685592367/instead-of-taking-pity-on-them-and-endangering-my  
THIS LITTLE COMIC is what inspired my entire fic. I really, really hope my fic is even remotely as enjoyable as I found the comic to be.
> 
> If you're wondering where in the timeline this story takes place, I place it roughly around Verdant Wind Chapter 19, which is when you storm Enbarr. The story is based on a Golden Deer run in which no one was recruited from other Houses (which I've never done before; I'm a serial recruiter), and thus I've had to make some assumptions as to who would've been fought at Aillel, Myrddin, Gronder or Merceus.

Sometimes I dream of arrows in the dark. I'm not quite sure what it means, but I suspect it's a coping mechanism, as I have those dreams after particularly difficult fights.

I'm not entirely sure what has drawn me here tonight. There's nothing particularly special about today, or tomorrow. Tomorrow is our weekly war council and training session, where I help my allies along their paths to achieve their long term goals. But tonight, for some reason, I just can't sleep.

It's not the first time I've had a night like this. In fact, it's not the first time this year I've had a sleepless night where I've found Claude here, outside the cathedral, staring up at the stars.

I can recall his words, about how when his mind gets too busy, he comes outside to look at the wide expanse of sky, and how the stars make his problems seem small in comparison. How he takes comfort in making his problems seem small, therefore manageable.

Thus, I'm not surprised to see him there, where I've found him before. It's dark and there are few lit sconces around, but I know he knows his way in the dark.

Something is very different tonight, however.

He is sitting down on a step, hunched forward. That alone is odd. He is not looking up at the stars. He is looking down, as if at his feet. And as I draw closer, waiting for him to turn to me, hearing my footsteps, I begin to notice that he's… trembling.

He doesn't seem aware of my approach. I  _ am _ walking softly, so as not to alarm him, but I'm not trying to sneak up on him. Still, he seems lost in thoughts.

Or that's what I thought. Then I hear the telltale gulp for air, and the messy sniffle, that often accompanies sobbing. A ragged, shaky breath of air, and the trembling intensifies briefly.

Suddenly, it is all clear.

Why he is out here, far away from the dormitories where the others are sleeping.

Why he is sitting down and looking down, instead of looking upward at the sky.

Why he is shaking.

Claude is not a pious man. He didn't come to the cathedral to be close to the goddess or to express his faith. He has come here to mourn.

Claude, who has been the pillar of strength for everyone, including me in my darkest of times, is out here, alone, wallowing in grief. I do not know who he is mourning, nor does it matter. My feet carry me forward of their own accord. I was his teacher, and now I am his friend. I will do for him what he could not do for me five years ago.

“Gah!” He starts when I gently lay my hand on his shoulder. “Oh, T-Teach…” He looks at me, and his eyes are red, bloodshot and full of tears, but he smiles brightly at me. That smile… that endearing and easy smile, that doesn't reach his eyes. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

I don't have the heart to scold him or remind him that I could ask him the same question. The look in his eyes is one I've never seen from him before. Though he is smiling easily (he has had years of practice doing this) his eyes look like those of a lost little boy.

For a moment, I am overcome with grief myself. I remember how much it hurt to bury my father, to be unable to save him from the treasonous snake who knifed him and took him away from me. I have no real heart in my chest (not a living heart, anyway) but my chest still aches in sympathy. I know pain and grief. And Claude has become nearly as precious to me as Jeralt was long ago.

I let my instincts guide me. Kneeling down beside him, I put my arms around him. “It's all right, Claude. You don't have to say anything. I'm here for you.”

“Uh,” he murmurs as I pull him close. “I...”

“It's just the two of us. You're okay.”

“T...Teach...”

I'm not a teacher anymore, but that doesn't seem to bother him. He may be our Alliance Leader and the leader of our army, but he still looks to me for guidance. He is still a very young man, thrust into a leadership position he wasn't really ready for, and now…

He whimpers. At any other moment, it might have be surreal and hilarious, to hear Claude von Riegan, the illustrious Duke Riegan and leader of the Leicester Alliance, whimper like a hurt puppy. But right now, it's not funny.

I can only hug him, offering him what comfort I can give.

His voice collapses around his next words, as his arms slowly wind around me, and he clings to me; “T...Teach… I killed them. They were my friends… and I  _ killed _ them… I didn't even hesitate.”

This is the reality of war, especially if you're a mercenary. You try to not make many friends, because you never know when you'll suddenly be face to face with someone, only to put a sword or arrow through their heart on your orders. He knows this; he doesn't need me patronizing him by saying it. “You're all right, Claude.”

“No...”

I feel his tears drip into my clothing as he lowers his face to rest against me, surrendering to his grief, and he sobs pitifully. How long has it been since anyone comforted him like this? Claude has been alone for a long time, alone at the top of his country, and far from his family.

It isn't long before he pulls himself together and lets go of me, leaning away. He rubs his eyes tiredly. “Ugh. I'm so sorry you had to see me like this, Teach.”

“I'm here for you. I always will be.”

He chuckles tiredly, rubbing his face; “I guess the tables are turned on us. I couldn't help you back then, though. And, you were mourning the death of your whole world. Me? I'm just sad because I put an arrow through someone I used to have meals with in the dining hall once upon a time. Two very different circumstances. But thank you. I don't really deserve you, but I'm really glad you're here.”

I don't ask him who he's mourning for; it doesn't matter, and is none of my business.

We sit in silence, and he looks up at the sky. His composure returns, as it always does, and his face clears up.

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs again. “I… really don't know what came over me. I just… felt so claustrophobic in my room, so I came outside, and then… it just happened. All of a sudden, I can't stop seeing them… Ashe. Ingrid. Mercedes. Ferdinand. Bernadetta. Caspar. Linhardt. They… they were as innocent as anyone, really. Edelgard forced this war, and so they chose a side. And because they did, I… I killed them. Or had them killed. Whether I pulled the arrow that killed them, or just ordered the soldier who pulled it, I'm responsible.”

I shake my head slowly; “Don't think like that. I'm the one who gives commands on the battlefield. If it helps you at all, think of me as being responsible.”

“That won't do.” He sighs. “It doesn't work that way, but thank you for trying.”

Unable to further comfort him with words, I just put my arm across his shoulders in a friendly and companionable gesture. He isn't the first student I've found and comforted like this. (Lysithea, Marianne and Leonie each reacted badly to the Gronder massacre, and Ignatz was traumatized by having to kill Ashe in Ailell. Hilda was shaken badly by Gronder and Merceus, and Lorenz was rattled by Myrrdin. In fact, the only student I have yet to see truly affected by the brutality of war is Raphael.)

At length, he stands up and dusts himself off. “I think I'm going to go brew myself a cup of tea and then go to bed. Maybe now that I've cried myself out, I can sleep. You're welcome to join me for the tea, if you've a mind to, but I won't pressure you. Thank you for being there for me, my friend. I guess I needed a shoulder to cry on after all. It's just been too much, this whole war.”

I intercept him before he can leave; “Before you go, I need you to tell me something.”

“Don't worry, Teach. I won't hesitate to put an arrow through Hubert or Edelgard. I know they have to die. I am resigned to it. I may still feel bad, but… that's my privilege, to feel bad. I still won't hesitate. Anyone who threatens my army, they forfeit their lives. I've said it before: It doesn't matter if we were friends five years ago: if someone opposes me, instead of taking pity on them and endangering my comrades, I'll take them out... without hesitation. I just will feel terrible about it later.”

He pauses a moment and gives me that oddly charming inviting smile of his. Then he heads out and through the grounds toward the dormitory.

I wait a few minutes, deciding if I'm up to some tea (it'll most likely be chamomile; not only is it one of his favorites, but it's a calming, mildly soporific tea) and ultimately decide that since he doesn't offer very often, I should take him up on the offer.

Claude knows me very well; he is waiting outside the dormitories, sitting on the steps again, looking up at the sky, with a tea kettle warming on a portable brazier on the floorboards beside him. He has taken up residence in the room next to mine, abandoning his upper floor room from school days. (He says it's important for the army's two main commanders to be close to each other. I doubt this very much, but it's not my place to interfere. Besides, the room is probably more convenient for him.)

As I approach, he pours two mugs of tea, and holds one out to me in invitation. Not even a moment's consideration that I might not want it. He knows me  _ far _ too well.

I take the cup and crouch down beside him briefly to drink it. It's a bit more bitter than I normally like, but not unpleasant (and yes, it's chamomile, just as I suspected it would be) and we drink our cups in silence.

“He liked this too, you know,” Claude says softly. “Dimitri, I mean. I sorta wish we could go back to those days. Back before we knew  _ she _ was...” He trails off, catching himself, and then coughs delicately. “I'm going to make myself really sad all over again if I keep thinking like that.” He takes a long, hard pull at his tea, downing the rest of his cup and pouring himself a new one.

“You didn't spike this, did you?” I ask him (knowing full well that he wouldn't).

He laughs and takes another long pull from his cup; “Spike it with what? What exactly do we even have that I could spike it with?”

There is no further talking between us as we watch the sky quietly and drink the pot of tea. Then, Claude collects the mugs, the pot and the brazier and stashes them away in his room and bids me good night.  He gives me that dazzling (if somewhat fake) smile before disappearing into his room and closing the door.

I am plagued by insomnia, so I stay outside and watch the sky for a little longer  while I wait for the chamomile to kick in . In time, I can faintly hear the sounds of snoring coming from his room (he's not loud when he snores, but I can still hear it, and I find it oddly comforting), and at long last, my body decides it can sleep. I take myself to bed, and settle in, closing my eyes and letting myself drift away.

I dream of arrows in the dark again.  It must be how I alleviate my grief and my guilt for every life I must end.

The next morning, Claude is back to his old self, with bright and clear eyes. He greets me warmly at breakfast, and reminds me of the time we are to begin our weekly meeting. There is no sign of last night's grief or uncertainty. He is every inch the leader he was born to be.

However, as we leave the dining hall to head to our morning rounds (me to check on everyone, and him to check on the wyverns and pegasi, since his white wyvern won't let anyone else near her) Claude intercepts me.

“Thank you, Teach. For… well, for everything. But especially for being there last night. It's so easy to feel overwhelmed and alone; it was really nice to have you there.  I promise, I'll be better from here on. ”

“ Anytime you need a shoulder,  I'll be there for you . You're human, Claude. We all have our weaknesses.  Please don't hesitate to seek me out. ”

**Author's Note:**

> Byleth was written specifically to be un-gendered as possible. This way you can choose their gender yourself. Are they male? Are they female? Are they agender? Are they nonbinary? Are they trans? Are they something else I haven't listed? The answer to all those questions is YES, if that's how you want them to be. That's why I wrote it in First Person (a perspective I generally abhor). While their actions may be slightly female coded (because I'm female myself) I do know men who are very touchy-feely and will initiate a hug without warning, especially with a grieving friend. 
> 
> In the comic that inspired this fic, Byleth is female (or at least female presenting), but I wanted this to be as gender neutral as possible, because Byleth is supposed to be a character you can project onto.


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